


A Blessing That Comes Nightly

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, Character Death, Character Undeath, Halloween, Horror, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: It's the dark in the night, it's the dark in your head, when the vampires come for you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah-okay-sorry about this one. I love happy Jack and Bitty and they should always be happy but...it's Hallowe'en and Hallowe'en is full of dark hearts and shadow kings and brittle leaves and this played in my head, this image of poor, cold Bitty, hiding in the Haus basement, waiting for Jack. I am a horrible person XD
> 
> This work was inspired by Stephen King's 'Salem's Lot. While searching for quotes that would fit with my idea, I was reminded how beautiful King's writing can be. Here are two other quotes I really liked:
> 
> “But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.”
> 
> and
> 
> “The town kept its secrets, and the Marsten House brooded over it like a ruined king.” 
> 
> I am not worthy but I am inspired.
> 
> Thank you Stephen King and thank you beautiful [Ngozi](http://ngoziu.tumblr.com) and her marvelous webcomic [Check, Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com)

_Oh, the terrible struggle that I have had against sleep so often of late; the pain of the sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, and with such unknown horror as it has for me! How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet_ _dreams._

_Bram Stoker, Dracula_

_At three in the morning the blood runs slow and thick, and slumber is heavy. The soul either sleeps in blessed ignorance of such an hour or gazes about itself in utter despair. There is no middle ground._

[ _Stephen King_](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3389.Stephen_King) _, ‘Salem’s Lot_

 

Everyone thought it was the flu at first, of course, although for a moment, in jest, Holster had said, “What if this isn't the flu? What if it’s like vampires or zombies or something,” and everyone had laughed, a bit nervously and a bit like whistling in the dark because it’s never vampires or zombies. It’s always the flu.

 

Until it isn't.

 

Bitty sat in the cold, damp basement, wedged up tight beside the furnace, space enough to hold him or perhaps Lardo, but no one else. They were all too big, too broad in the shoulders. Lardo could reach him, though. She’d be able to crawl in close, to reach him, her face, nocturnal predator tight, sly smile and…his chest heaved, and he bit the palm of his hand to stop from crying out, thinking about Lardo’s too pale face at the end of the hall, her eyes gleaming brightly, reflecting mirror-like. The sound of her sigh as she skitter-whispered his name, like dry leaves blowing on pavement, “Come on Bitty. It’s not so bad. Come dream with us.” And she’d held out her hand. But if he’d come there’d be no more dreams, not for him, her promise deceptive.

 

He’d run then, blindly. Somehow making for the one place he thought of as safe but Rans was there, and he’d run and tripped in the dark, down the basement stairs, frightened it would be like in _‘Salem’s Lot_ with missing steps and knives invisible in the dark. Terrified he’d impale on them and they’d come out of the dark and drain him.

 

How he’d managed to wriggle in here, he couldn't remember. He sat back against the old stone foundation, dirt floor underneath. Holding his arms over his head, he wanted to rock, but it was too tight. Tried to slow his heart, it beat so loud he wouldn’t hear them coming, dry and rustling, cornstalks. They were quiet, so quiet, mice in the walls.

 

A long few days of terror and sweat and pain.

 

It had been Lardo first and then Rans. Once Rans was gone, Holster followed, together forever now. The first night, the first night Bitty knew he was in real trouble was the night they’d come to his window, just like the boy in the book. Holster knew the story, his bone-brittle laugh, his teeth white sharp in the moonlight, floating outside his bedroom window.

 

“Come and play, Bitty, come and play. It’s dark and sweet here, like ice in your veins.”

 

Rans had floated up beside him, no longer scared of ghost girls in the attic. Why would he be?

 

“Bitty, let me kiss you. You’ve thought about it. No one cares anymore. Let me kiss you, nibble you.”

 

And like in the book, Bitty had lifted up a cross, not from a Frankenstein glow-in-the-dark plastic model, but one he’d found in poor Chowder’s room and he’d held it up. Rans and Holster both hissed at him and drew back, faces filled with loathing.

 

Holster said to him before floating back down, “Soon,” he’d pledged, a wink and a slither of teeth clacking together.

 

The cross he’d used to hold off Rans and Holster and later Lardo, bit into his hand, bringing him back to the basement. He tried to shake the memories out of his head, but there was no room to move. Legitimate fear of getting stuck burst in his throat. A panic attack threatened to send him back out. He had to hang on, hang on until morning, take Rans’s car and drive to Providence. Jack would believe him; Jack would know what to do.

 

A slight scuffling, a creak. He couldn't see the top of the stairs from this angle, but he heard the sound of the door opening. A squeak and another. The sobs threatened to spill out. If he could just hang on, just hang on.

 

“Bitty?”

 

_Oh god, no!_

 

“Bitty? I know you’re there. It’s okay.”

 

_No, no, no, no! Not okay. Won’t ever be okay. Not now. Not now._

 

“Come on. Come on out.”

 

A mewling sound and he wasn't sure if it was him or someone…something else. Denial shook his head, and he covered his ears, shut his eyes tight and whispered to himself “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” but there was no sleep, no sleep left for him. He was awake and alert, and his heart would soon burst.

 

“Bitty. It’s me. You can't know. There’s no fear. There’s no hate. It’s quiet in my head for the first time.”

 

_Oh, Jack!_

 

“Come here, Bitty. It didn't even hurt. No more pain.”

 

Bitty started sobbing, his heart breaking, small pieces floating through his veins. Maybe it would kill him first before Jack could.

 

He couldn't resist Jack. He’d never be able to fight Jack.

 

Crawling slowly out of his hiding place, limbs trembling, as he came out a strong yet almost gentle hand grasped his shoulder, pulled him upright, not releasing him, swung him around, easily. The other hand wrapped around his waist trapped him.

 

Bitty tried to bring his arm up, tried to touch Jack, beloved Jack, his Jack, with the cross.

 

“Won't work on me, Bitty. You don't believe hard enough. You want this, too much.”

 

The struggle over before it had begun, his shuddering cries dampened into the frost cold of Jack’s chest.

 

“Shh, almost over now.” And Jack tipped Bitty’s head back, exposing his neck. “You’ll be so good, Bits, so very good.”

 

The bite wasn’t painful, at first, two small pinpricks, hardly anything, but soon after molten heat poured out and in, and Bitty screamed.

 

He screamed and screamed and screamed.

 

“Bittle!”

 

He shook so hard, fevered and icy.

 

“Bittle! Eric! Wake up! Shhh! Nightmare! Come on!”

 

Bitty flung himself upright, covers wrapped tightly around him. The momentum from lurching up and the struggle of trying to free his arms threw him to the floor and he landed at Jack’s feet.

 

“Are you okay? I, um, I heard you from my room and thought I should check.”

 

Bitty looked up at Jack and burst into tears.

 

Jack crouched down and awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. Unwinding his arms, Bitty flung them around Jack and in muffled half sobbing words, managed to convey the horrible nightmare he’d had.

 

After, Jack got the rest of him unwound from his blankets and back into bed. A wet cloth for his face and a glass of water helped immensely, Señor Bun back in Bitty’s arms.

 

With a final awkward pat on Bitty’s shoulder, Jack turned to go to his room, but he paused at the door, head turned back over his shoulder, a final word of advise, “No more late night horror movie marathons with Holster.”

 

“Captain’s orders?”

 

“Captain’s orders. You all right?”

 

Bitty, scrunched up tight under the blankets, nodded but Jack couldn't see him in the dark. “I guess.”

 

Jack came back and stood uncertainly at the edge of Bitty’s bed. “You, um, you need me to stay, Bittle? I could stay.” Fear still raced around Bitty’s heart, and the honest warmth of Jack’s offer could not be refused.

 

“If…if you don't mind. Maybe just until I fall asleep.”

 

Bitty could make out Jack’s shadow nod as a car drove by and caught a gleam of Jack’s eyes, mirror bright, reflected from the headlights.

 

Scooting over, so he was against the wall, Jack crawled in beside him, in the too small bed. Bitty yawned large and wide, the ache from crying fueling it.

 

Sleep hovered on the edge, sleep and hopefully quiet dreams to follow on Jack’s deepening breathing.

 

The slow slide, the sweet release, he began to drift, began to slip between awake and not. He felt Jack shift, a long arm thrown over him, felt Jack snuffle, as he cuddled into Bitty.

 

Just as he almost tipped over, he felt Jack’s lips move, felt the sharp, delicious prick of pain in his neck.

 

His eyes flew open.

 

Jack’s eyes had gleamed in the light from the car.

 

Bitty struggled, but weakly as Jack drank, drank and drained him and just before he crossed the threshold into death, Jack stopped, lifted his head. In the dimming light of the moon and the street lamps, Bitty’s slowly fading eyesight could make out the dark black slash of blood on Jack’s mouth, smelled his own coppery death on Jack’s breath, he heard him whisper, “You invited me into your bed. How could I refuse? How could I refuse how warm you are? It’s not so bad, Bitty. You’ll love it here, with me, in the dark, no more nightmares, no more fear.”

 

And later, much, much later, when Bitty woke, darkness reborn, undead, never to dream again, the crimson burning thirst the only thing he could think of, he knew Jack was right, beautiful, dark, dark Jack.

 

No more dreams. No more pain.

 

Just the taste of blood and the pledge of utter despair they left behind.


End file.
